


Too Good To Be True

by Treon



Series: Free as a Bird 'verse [1]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe, Case Fic, Gen, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-14 13:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Treon/pseuds/Treon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal and Mozzie scheme against the FBI</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU, Neal never ran after Kate. He never made a deal with Peter and was released after serving his sentence.

  
It was mid-morning, and Neal was enjoying a leisurely stroll through the busy streets of New York City.  He'd picked up a paper by the vendor, and now he stopped by a sidewalk cafe and ordered something to drink.  He figured he's catch up with Mozzie at his regular spot.

Until his coffee came along, he opened the paper.  He's been out for close to half a year now, but he still couldn't get past the small joys of sitting down to eat whenever and wherever he felt like it, enjoying the warmth of the sun at his back, the throng of people passing by on the sidewalk, the-

"Well, well, well.  If it isn't Neal Caffrey."

His little ritual of Thanksgiving was rudely interrupted by the appearance of agents Berrigan and Jones.  Neal wondered how long they've been following him.  The two agents closed around him, ensuring he couldn't make a run for it.  Not that he intended to.

"If it isn't Burke's minions.  Again."  Neal folded the paper over and dropped it on the table as he graciously waved them to sit down.  "Don't you have better things to do on such a fine day, than be out harassing the innocent residents of our fair city?"

Diana scowled at that as she took a chair. She reached over to flip the paper open.  It was the New York Times Arts section.  "I wouldn't say innocent."

"I've done my time.  Paid my debt to society.  I'm just like every other New Yorker now."

The female agent rolled her eyes.  "Hardly.  You're an ex-con."

"And we're not so sure about that ex part," Jones added as he pulled out a chair too.

It was a game Neal would have preferred not playing today.  The FBI had not given him a moment's peace since his release.  They were constantly showing up at the most inopportune moments, calling in him for interrogations, leaking his name and picture to journalists. But it didn't seem as though he had any choice.

He made a show of looking around.  "Where's Peter?  Or is he parked around the corner?"

He didn't get an answer.  Instead Jones glared at him.  "This is not a social call, Caffrey.  The Met's going to open a new Renaissance exhibit next week."

"I've seen the ads."  Neal gestured towards the paper on the table.  "Though I'm sure Peter didn't send you here to update me on-"  His phone started ringing.  "Excuse me."

It was Mozzie, and before Neal could say anything he broke into a rant.  "Neal!  You brought suits to *my* cafe!! Suits, Neal!"  Neal was sure the feds on the other side of the table could hear Mozzie perfectly well.  "Where am I going to-"

Neal shut the phone with a quick "sorry, got to go," and turned back to the two agents with a smile.  "So, you were saying about the exhibit?"

Diana picked up the conversational thread.  "We know you visited the museum recently, Caffrey."

Neal shrugged it off with another smile.  "Is that a crime?"

"It is for you, the museum's got a restraining order against you.  You could go back to jail for this."

Another innocent shrug.  "It's a crime to live in this great city and spend Sundays at home."

"You can go to the park."  Jones pointed out.

"I'm sure you didn't come here to discuss my recreational habits."

Jones smiled a tight smile. "No, we came here to tell you that we're watching you."

They were interrupted by the waitress, who put a steaming mug of coffee in front of Neal.  "Your cappuccino, Sir."

Neal thanked her with a smile.  The waitress smiled back, then turned to the two agents.  "Can I get you anything?"  They didn't.

The waitress walked off to attend to the next table over, drawing Neal's attention after her.  Diana shook her head.  "Did you tell her where you spent the past four years, Caffrey?"

Neal replied with a flippant "I'm not sure it's come up in conversation yet."   It seemed the two agents had something to say about everything he did, and he didn't appreciate the attitude.  It reminded him too much of his prison days.  He reached for the paper, fully intending to get back to reading it.  "Now, if you'll excuse me, my coffee's getting cold."

Diana smacked the paper down.  "We know you were checking out the Met.  You go after that exhibit, we'll make sure you're put away for a long, long time."

"You think I'm going to.. "  Neal looked positively hurt by the accusations.  "All this because I visited a museum?"

Diana looked like she had run all out of patience.  "All this because you're an art thief, Caffrey, and it's obvious your little jail stint wasn't enough." She got up, an unspoken signal for Jones to do the same.  "Remember, we're watching you."

"Wait.  Ok, look.. "  Neal leaned forward with a conspiratorial whisper, forcing the two agents to lean down to catch his words.  "Maybe I did hear talk of a hit going down next week."  He straightened up.  "I could help you catch them."

Jones looked as skeptical as he sounded.  "You want to *help* us?"

"I'm a law-abiding citizen."  Neal held out his hands in a gesture of innocence.

"Right." Diana looked him up and down.  "Why didn't you report this to the police."

"I don't like police stations."

"You like the FBI offices better?"

"You've made it clear I'm your main suspect.  And I'd really like to avoid hours of interrogation this time around."  He paused to emphasize his next words.  "I'd like to stop this crime just as much as you do."

The feds exchanged a look.  "Come down to the bureau tomorrow morning.  And you better have real intel."

Neal smiled.  "I'd never lie to you."

Jones snorted.

Neal waited till they disappeared down the street before he picked up his paper, dropped a bill on the table and left the cafe, leaving his coffee untouched.  This time he made sure he wasn't being followed.

 

=====

 

Mozzie caught up with him a few blocks down, and he was not happy.  "What were you thinking?!?  That cafe's burned.  I'm going to have to reschedule my Wednesdays now."

Neal glanced at his friend with an indulgent smile.  "We've got other problems, Moz.  The FBI thinks I'm going to hit the new Renaissance exhibit at the Met."

That stopped Mozzie in his tracks.  He gave a quick look around to make sure nobody was eavesdropping before he whispered, "We *are* going to hit it.  Why do they.. "  He trailed off, and before Neal could answer his unspoken question, he realized the answer.  "They caught you casing the museum."

"Peter's good."  Neal was willing to give him that.

"I told you it was risky.  Neal, I've already got a buyer!"  Mozzie was quickly moving into panic mode again.  "And he's not going to be happy if we pull out now."

"We don't have to pull out."

"And.. and what, we're going to go in with a suit target on our backs?"

"No."  Neal grinned, enjoying the moment.  "We get the FBI to steal it for us."  



	2. Chapter 2

 

Neal's penthouse apartment had a magnificent view of Central Park and the Upper East Side beyond it. Neal would have preferred sitting outside on his terrace so he could enjoy this view, but out of respect for Big Brother, and Mozzie, they were sitting inside. Windows closed and shades drawn.

Neal's art studio was one of the first rooms he had furnished in his new place. One wall of the studio was taken up by a whiteboard, covered with blueprints, pictures and sketches of their current score. Neal and Mozzie sat around a large table in the center of the room, a blueprint of the Metropolitan Museum spread between them. A couple of open bottles of wine were standing nearby.

Mozzie emptied the remains of a bottle of Viognier into his glass, then picked up a miniaturized print of Vermeer's Milkmaid. "Our Milkmaid will be in one of the side rooms. By the way, these aren't to scale. I didn't have time to-"

"Can we just- ?" Neal urged him along, with a wave of his own glass.

Mozzie placed the little milkmaid in its presumed spot on the blueprint. "I'll check out which room on Sunday. Meanwhile," he picked up several more miniatures, "You'll keep the FBI focused on the Rembrandts in the main hall, here. Tuesday I go in, botch the theft-"

"Try not to make it look too amateurish."

That earned Neal a hard look from Mozzie. "The suits take the painting to evidence." He flicked the milkmaid into a trashcan. "We catch it there and switch it with a forgery. The suits authenticate it, discover it's a forgery, and we're left with an untainted original."

Neal smiled. "The museum has no idea they were ever hit, and the Feds have nothing to investigate."

Mozzie raised his glass in a silent salute to their genius. "Oh. How's the forgery going?"

"I'll finish it over the weekend.," Neal waved a hand towards the easels by the far wall. He'd already started the foundation work.

"You'll need to make it good enough, though. We can't have them suspecting the switch was done in New York."

Neal nodded. "They won't."

Mozzie took a sip of his wine. "And the suits said they'll be watching you."

"That's exactly what I hope they'll be doing."

 

========

The morning's briefing at the White Collar division was pretty much routine. Peter, standing arms akimbo, opened up with the new business at hand.

"Listen up everybody. First an update on the Met. The Rijksmuseum collection has arrived at the Dutch embassy. It will be moved to the museum Saturday night. From that point on, securing the collection is our top priority. This bears repeating, we're dealing with an NY400 event and a Dutch national treasure. Nothing can go wrong."

He looked round the room to ensure he had everybody's full attention.

"The exhibit will open Sunday with a special reception hosted by the Dutch ambassador, and will be on display for two weeks. This means our thief's window of opportunity will be extremely short. There aren't many out there who are both capable and daring enough. Neal Caffrey is still our prime suspect."

"And now he knows it," Jones added.

"And now he knows it," Peter repeated in agreement. "Jones?"

Clinton turned to face the assembled agents. "Diana and I met with Caffrey yesterday. Rattled him a bit. He claimed he had information about a possible heist and that he would help us out." He glanced back at Peter. "He looked pretty earnest about it."

"Neal always looks earnest." Peter pointed out. "Next on the agenda, the Bliksem insurance scam.."

 

======== 

An hour later the FBI's prime suspect confidently walked into the Lion's Den.  This wasn't Neal's first time in these office since his release, but this was the first that he came here of his own free will.  Until now he'd only seen the inside of the interrogation rooms.  This time Neal was escorted up to Burke's office, but he had no illusions it would be any different. 

  
The first thing that caught his eye when he entered the room was the whiteboard by the window.  His face was plastered all over it.  A surveillance photo from outside his apartment, a couple from the Met.  A big question mark had been circled in marker below those two.  Another seemed to be from yesterday morning.  No pictures of his rooftop, though, despite Mozzie's claims.  Did Peter forget this was here, or was he trying to make a point?  Neal assumed it was the latter.   

"Have a seat."  The senior agent didn't waste any time with small-talk.  "You said you had information for us." 

Neal made himself comfortable in the guest chair.  "I was thinking quid pro quo."

"Meaning?" 

"Call you you goons off."  Neal nodded towards the whiteboard.

Peter curtly shook his head.  "That's not going to happen."

"Then I'm sorry I wasted your time."  Neal made to leave.

"Sit down.  Let me tell you what we know."  Peter got up and crossed over to the whiteboard.  "Several fences around town have been approached about pieces from the Rijksmuseum collection.  We also know," he tapped the Met's security footage pictures, "that a very prominent art thief-"  

"Alleged."  Neal interjected.

"-was spotted casing the exhibit wing a few days ago.  Do you have anything to say about that?"

Neal lifted his hand in solemn oath.  "Look, Peter, I did visit the museum, but I was not casing it."

"And I should just take your word for it."  A few more seconds ticked by before Peter realized he wasn't going to get an answer to that.  "Neal, you've got to give me something here."  His voice hardened.  "Otherwise, innocent or not, once this goes down, you're going to find yourself in jail until we close this case.  And that could take a while." 

"You're threatening me."  Neal sounded surprised.

Peter moved closer, perching on the side of his desk.  "See, Neal, I think you're trying to play both sides of the game.  You said you want to help us and prove you're not part of this, here's your chance."  He saw Neal hesitate and pressed his point.  "If you help us, I could help you with the troubles you've been having with the FBI lately."

Peter waited while Neal considered the offer.  It wasn't every day that his prime suspect showed up in his office offering him information on his case.  And Neal was a world class con-man.  On the other hand, he didn't see what he was losing by playing the game. 

"From what I've heard..." Neal finally spoke up.  "They're going after Rembrandt's Night Watch." 

Peter drew in a breath.  "When?"

"Next Tuesday evening, once the museum closes down."

Now he was finally getting specifics.  "How big of a crew?"

  
"You'll need four, five people to pull this off."

"I need names." 

  
"I don't know."  Neal could see he was losing the agent.  "Peter, I swear."

Peter's eyes narrowed.  "You seem to know an awful lot about a score you claim you're not involved in."

Just like the Feds to twist you for information and then get suspicious when you talked.  It was too predictable.  "Let's just say the parties in question might have already lined up somebody to authenticate the piece."  

"I see."  For now, Peter let that slide.  "And when is that supposed to take place?"  

"Tuesday night, at the Carlyle."

"And you were at the Met.. ?" 

".. Because I was curious how they could pull it off."  Neal supplied the answer.

Peter considered Neal for a moment.  "How would *you* pull it off?"

If the agent had any doubts that Caffrey was still a criminal through and through, they were laid to rest when Neal's eyes lit up at the question. 

 

========

 

Peter stood outside his office as Neal was escorted out.  Jones climbed the stairs to join him.  They both watched Caffrey for a moment.  "So.. what was the point in warning him?" Jones broke the silence. 

"I was hoping he either gets smart and decides to stay away, or he does something really stupid."

"Hm.  Looks like he got smart."

"I don't know.."  Through the glass doors Peter caught sight of Neal, out by the elevator banks, looking over his shoulder at the FBI offices.  For a moment their eyes met.  And then the elevator came and the con-man disappeared into it.  Peter turned to go back to his office. "Jury's still out on that one."


	3. Chapter 3

 

Neal spent the morning of D-Day leading his FBI tails on a tour of Manhattan.  He had just reached Broadway when a black Ford slowed down by the curb.  

"Hey!  Neal!"

The car might as well have been carrying a sign saying "FEDS".  Peter was inside.  "How you doing?"

Neal glanced around, caught like a deer in the headlights.  It was one thing to go into the FBI offices, people knew he was a person of interest in half a dozen cases, but to have a Fed stop and say hi on the street?  

The agent continued shouting through the open passenger window, as if oblivious.  "I had a few more questions about what you told me the other day."

Neal jumped into the car before the agent could say anything else.  His finger stabbed the power window control.  "My God!  Are you trying to get me killed?"

Peter swallowed a smile.  "I thought you'd want to see the takedown."

"Well, you thought wrong." Neal glanced out the window.  If he was lucky he'd be out of here before anybody saw him.  "Anything else?"

Peter signaled and merged back into traffic.  "Let's talk."

That caught Neal's attention.  "Talk about what?"

========

Neal should have seen it coming, but he didn't.  Peter had given him a choice: either spend the day with the FBI, or spend the next 24 hours in NYPD lockup 'for his own protection'.  SOP for informants, Peter claimed.  Neal had shuddered at the word.  He couldn't believe there was such a procedure, but whatever the excuse, it was obvious Peter wanted him off the street today.  Which was just fine with him.

And so he spent the morning listening to Peter organize the evening's stakeout, coordinating with NYPD and the museum.  It was interesting at times, but otherwise Neal contented himself with just sitting there quietly and sending updates to Mozzie every once in a while.

In the early afternoon the White Collar team headed out to the museum to start setting up.  

Neal had no idea how FBI agents survived hours of stakeouts.  Barely half an hour passed before he was going out of his mind in that crowded van.  Maybe a jail cell would have been the better option.  The stakeout hadn't even begun yet, and the agents were still busy testing their audio and video feeds.  It was a wonder they ever caught anyone.

Peter caught him glancing at his watch.  That little trinket was worth more than his monthly salary.  "Are we boring you?"

"Hm?  No, no, not at all."   Neal threw Peter a quick smile and straightened up in his seat.      

"I'm sure you've spent nights on stakeouts before."

He had, actually.  But they were far more interesting.    

Peter watched him for a few minutes.  "Neal, give me that phone."

"Why?"

Peter just held out his hand until Neal complied.  "Thank you."  

With no way to warn Mozzie, and nothing to do, Neal settled into staring at the banks of screens.

The minutes seemed to stretch out into hours.  Until..  

"The alarm was just set off," Clinton announced from his station.

Neal straightened up in his chair.  As did the agents in the van.  Nothing was showing up on monitors.

Peter cursed under his breath.  "Where?"

Clinton brought up a map of the museum.  "Right there."  Neal craned his neck to see what he was pointing at.

"Get me eyes on that room."

The view on the monitors changed to show one of the exhibition side rooms.  There was nobody there.

"Could be a false alarm."  Neal said to nobody in particular.

Peter picked up his walkie-talkie.  "All teams, go, go, go!"

The reports started streaming in.  Somebody had broken in and started cutting down one of the painting.  The Feds gave chase, but he disappeared without a trace, leaving his loot behind.

Peter glared angrily around the van, his gaze quickly focusing on the young con-man.  "You did this."

"What?"  Neal turned from the monitors.  "Peter, I'm here *helping* you."

Peter didn't want to hear anymore.  "Arrest him."

"For what?  I was right here the whole time!"

Peter made his way out of the van, to get away both from Neal's protestations of innocence as well as the stifling atmosphere.  He couldn't put his finger on why or how, but his gut instinct told him he's just been had.

 

========

And there Neal was, back in the interrogation room.  Again.  Watching Peter across the table, pacing back and forth.  

The FBI agent was fuming.  "I know you were behind this."

Neal shook his head with a quiet laugh.  "How could I be?  I was with you the whole day, Peter.  You made sure of that."

Peter stopped in front of Neal.  "Your partner wasn't."

Neal didn't blink.  "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I think you do.  Except you didn't get what you were after, did you?"

"I told you, I had nothing to do with this. I-"

Peter raised a hand to stop him.  "Yeah, yeah, I know.  How can I accuse *Neal Caffrey* of planning a robbery.  I must be out of my mind."

Neal shrugged, saying nothing.  

"You were conning me the whole time, weren't you?  You told me the plan was to get the Night Watch.  They didn't."

"Maybe they changed their mind at the last minute," Neal suggested as helpfully as he could.

"Robbing a museum takes planning, you don't just break in and rush to get the first thing you see."  Peter shook his head, dismissing the idea.  "Nobody showed up at the Carlyle either."

"I guess I got conned too."

"Oh, no.. "  Peter turned on him again.  "You were not a victim here."

"Peter, you said if I'll help you, you'll help me.  So far you've abducted me, arrested me, and now you're interrogating me for a crime you know I didn't commit."  This was definitely the last time ever he was going to offer to help the FBI.  "How long are you going to hold me?"

"For as long as I need."

"Right.  I get it."  Neal was still smiling, but bitterness crept into his voice.  "You want me in jail forever.  But you didn't have enough evidence against me four years ago, and you don't have anything now.  So in the meantime you get off by making my life a living hell."

"You don't get it at all."  Peter drew in a sharp breath.   "Jail was supposed to be a wake-up call.  This is your opportunity to start a normal life.  Settle down, start a family, get a job.  Because if you continue on this path, at some point you will slip up, and I'll be there when you do.  You'll be spending the next fifteen to twenty staring at the best years of your life through prison bars."

He sighed and pulled out a chair.  "It doesn't have to be this way.  Neal, You're young, you're talented, capable.  You could make your mark on the art world.  Legally."

Neal couldn't believe his ears.  Maybe Peter had gone mad.  "I'm Neal Caffrey, alleged master forger and art thief.  No gallery in town would hire me."

"I can pull in a few favors."

"Right." Neal scoffed.

Peter produced a business card from his pocket and dropped it on the table.  "When you decide to grow up, call me."

He got up and walked out without waiting to see whether Neal had picked it up.  

Diana met him outside.  "How's it going?"

"Usual Caffrey.  He admits nothing, he did nothing, it's all a big mix-up or frame-up..  I want him polygraphed."

Diana looked at her watch.  "It won't be easy getting an examiner over here at this hour."

"Then let it wait till morning.  Have the marshals hold him for the night."  Wouldn't hurt to give Caffrey some time alone to think things over.

========

 

Later that night, sitting down to a much delayed dinner, Peter could not help but obsess about the case.  "Caffrey was sitting in my office, practically confessing to casing the museum, to fencing in stolen artwork.." Peter shook his head.  "I thought maybe, just maybe I could flip him.  I don't get it."

Elizabeth placed a portion of casserole on his plate.  "Maybe you did?"

Peter barely noticed.  "No.. with Neal.. It's like talking to a wall.  Except it's worse: You think you're getting to him, and then it all turns out to be an act.  Like tonight.." Peter replayed that conversation in his head.  "I just don't know.  I can't figure out what he's getting from all of this."

"Well,"  Elizabeth tried to point out the bright side, "you should take a look at the web.  As far as the New York Post is concerned, the FBI stopped an international crime in progress.  You're a hero, hon, in two countries."

Peter was still deep in thought.  "No..  Even if we wouldn't have been there, his thief did a pretty bungled up job.  He practically wanted to get caught."

"Except you didn't catch him."

Peter nodded at that.  "No.. we didn't."

 

========

 

The clock had shortly struck two when Peter's eyes flew open.  In the darkness of his bedroom he groped for his phone.  He knew exactly what Neal was up to.  



	4. Chapter 4

 

========

Despite Peter's threats, he couldn't hold Neal in custody forever.  There was no evidence against him and Neal had a rock solid alibi, courtesy of the FBI.  After hours of interrogations, Neal was released.  It was already afternoon by the time he finally made it home.  He had barely slept the previous night.  All he wanted was a hot shower, a change of clothes and at least eight hours of uninterrupted sleep in his own bed.

But, entering his apartment, he found Mozzie sitting on his couch, wine glass in hand, waiting.  Neal wondered how long his friend had been sitting there.  "Good of you to finally show up."

"Yeah, I was busy, Moz"

Mozzie didn't ask any more questions.  It was normal to disappear and lay low after a big score.  "We have a problem."

Neal looked around his expansive living room.  "Where's the painting?"

"Your suit friend had our Milkmaid moved to a more secure location, before I could get to it." 

"He's not my friend."  Neal wasn't that surprised at the news, though.  Given Peter's line of questioning that day, he had figured Peter suspected he still intended to go after the painting.  "So, where is it?"

Mozzie put down his glass on the coffee table.  "It's in a vault in the FBI's crime lab.  In the Federal Building."

"Well, I'm not going back there."  Neal said with finality.  He was going to bed.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no."  Mozzie jumped up to intercept him.  "Neal, that painting will be returned to the museum any day now.  We're both going there, this evening. "

"We?" 

"I can't do this on my own, Neal.  They've got a Kaso 260 in there."

"I'm burned, Moz.  The place could be crawling with White Collar.  I'll be arrested the minute I set foot in there."

Mozzie looked at Neal with a calculating look.  "I think I have a solution for that.  We do need an in however."

"Wait."  Neal checked his pockets and produced the card Peter gave him. "How about this?"

 

========

The FBI crime lab was located in the basement of the Federal Building.  Mozzie and Neal had timed it so they entered shortly after 6:00pm, lowering the chances they'll run into many people, but ensuring there will still be somebody around. 

Mozzie wore a suit for the event.  Neal wore blue overalls with yellow FBI lettering on the back, an FBI baseball cap pulled low over his face.  He was carrying a box of rolled-up paintings, which also helped obscure his face.

A young woman wearing a white lab coat stopped them by the entrance.  "Sorry, we already closed down for the day."

"Agent Donatello from Albany," Mozzie said by way of introduction.  He glanced down at the business card Neal had given him.  "Uh.. Agent Burke told me I should put these in your evidence room."

"It's right down there."  The lab assistant pointed down the hall.  "But Agent Burke was here just a moment ago. Let me see if I can catch him."

Mozzie's smile froze.  "Yeah.. that's, that's an excellent idea.  George, why don't you put the evidence down there, I'll go with.."

"Agent Ross"

"Right, I'll go with Ross." 

Neal waited till they both disappeared around the corner, before he hurried down the hall.  The door to the evidence room was open.  He peeked in and saw that the coast was clear.  Locking the door behind him, he quickly got to work.

The room wasn't very big, and the safe took up most of one wall.  He set the box he was carrying down by the safe, and carefully took out his tools.  He didn't have much time, but there was no way he could hurry this, and nothing he could really do if he was caught at this stage.  And yet, he lived for times like these.

After ten minutes of holding his breath, he finally got the safe open.  It took another nerve-wracking minute to locate his Vermeer.  He removed it from its case, and unrolled it on a nearby table.  Then he unrolled his own forgery next to it.  Neal stopped to admire his handiwork.  He knew he was good, but even he thought he outdid himself this time. 

The only difference between the two was the cut Mozzie had made when he started cutting the painting out of its frame.  Taking out a retractable blade, Neal carefully cut the canvas of his forgery, copying Mozzie's cut of the original.  Then he rolled his forgery up, and inserted it back into the case, and into the safe.  He then rolled up the original, dropping it into his own box, and quickly put back all his tools.

Mission accomplished.

Or not.

Neal could hear Peter's voice down the hall.  "I never spoke to any agent Donatello." 

He looked wildly round the room and his eyes lit on a door on the far side.  Taking one last look to make sure everything was as neat and clean as when he had come in, he grabbed the box and made a quick dash for it.  He  managed to pick the lock and slip inside just a second before Ross and Peter entered the room.  It turned out to be a very small closet.  He could still hear Peter, muffled on the other side of the door.  He couldn't hear Mozzie, which meant he very probably had made a run for it.  "You said he had an assistant with him?"

"Yes, young guy, with a box of paintings.  Probably saw the room was locked and left."

"Good.  This room is to remain locked at all times.  Nobody comes in without accompaniment"

Peter tested the safe door.  It was still locked.  "Can you open the safe, please?"  He noticed the closet door and checked that too.  It was also locked.

"Agent Burke?"  Ross called him by the open safe. 

Peter crossed back to check the evidence he had brought in yesterday.  He unrolled the painting, checking it from all sides.  It looked untouched.

Neal stood with his ear to the closet door.  He waited a full fifteen minutes after the room had gone silent, and then, far less triumphantly than he originally intended, he let himself out of the closet, and out of the building. 

Mission accomplished.  It was time to celebrate. 

 


	5. Epilogue

Two weeks later

 

Mozzie was not celebrating. He and Neal were sitting in Neal's living room, looking at their newly acquired painting.

"You know this painting is now worthless," Mozzie broke the silence.

"It's not my fault the FBI lab rats can't tell a real Vermeer from a fake." Neal was practically beaming.

Mozzie turned to look at him. "Neal, you're a great con-man, but you don't do humble. Your suit friend-"

"He's not my-" Oh, whatever.

"-had it authenticated. And I heard the Dutch authenticated it too." They sat there for a moment, taking in the painting, before Mozzie exploded once again. "I told you not to do too good a job!"

"Not how *I* remember that conversation," Neal mumbled under his breath.

"What?"

"Never mind. Moz, look on the bright side."

"When have I ever done that? The client wants to know why his Milkmaid is now hanging in the Rijksmuseum. His *FBI authenticated* Milkmaid." Mozzie accentuated every word with a jab of his finger in the air. "This has ruined our reputation. *My* reputation."

Neal tried to look properly chastised, but failed. Secretly he wondered how difficult it would be to steal that certificate of authenticity. It would look so good hanging on his wall. By his Vermeer.


End file.
